


From Now On You're Gonna Be Mine

by Joolzmp7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Best Friends, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kid Fic, Kid John Watson, Kid Sherlock, Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Slow Build, Teen John Watson, Teen Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 14:43:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7688455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joolzmp7/pseuds/Joolzmp7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John returns from war after being injured and is lying in hospital thinking back over his life with Sherlock since they met when they were children.  After a misunderstanding and separation when they were in their teens, will they now come together again as adults.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From Now On You're Gonna Be Mine

From Now On You’re Gonna Be Mine

By Joolz

 

John Watson lay in his hospital bed thinking that his life was pretty much over. All his hopes and dreams lay as shattered as the bone and muscle in his stupid shoulder. He had been alone for about an hour now, since the doctor had told him the prognosis and left. All he could do was wallow in his despair, thinking of what he had hoped to achieve on his return, all of which would no longer be possible.

John had just properly awoken after a second operation on his shoulder. He had apparently had an emergency procedure to save his arm whilst in Afghanistan, but he’d been shot right on the frontline and, as he knew from his own experience, they just tried to patch people up as best they could with the little resources on hand. He had developed an infection in the wound and been shipped home to this military hospital on the outskirts of London to have another operation to try and restore as much function as possible and combat the infection.

They had operated again as soon as he’d arrived here, but he had been delirious for the last three days and his fever had only broken that morning. Hence the visit from the doctor and the news that he would never be able to operate again. They had fixed most of the damage but, even with intensive physiotherapy, there would still be a weakness there which manifested in an occasional tremor. What had once been the truest and safest hands in his unit, saving countless lives in the field, were now nothing but a liability. He could not be trusted to perform delicate procedures, leaving him a disappointment to himself and to ‘him’; to Sherlock.

Now what was he supposed to do? His plan had been to finish this last tour and come home as a successful doctor and someone worthy of Sherlock Holmes, but now that was impossible.

He had had it all set up. He had been training up his two juniors and David, certainly, had already shown signs of being fully capable of taking over when John’s tour should have ended, five months from now. He had been in contact with his old university friend, Mike Stamford, who had been putting out a few feelers and was confident that he would be able to get John a position at St Barts, where he himself worked. 

He had planned to get everything organised; a job, a place to live in London and a successful army career behind him and then present himself to his best friend as someone worthy of consideration. He’d show Mycroft Holmes that he was actually worth something; that Sherlock wouldn’t be throwing his life away on him.

~*~

He could still remember that day. It had been Sherlock’s sixteenth birthday and John had just received his acceptance letter for the army. He’d come to Sherlock’s party to tell him his news and let him know that now that Sherlock was of age, he wanted them to be together and that he would wait for Sherlock until he was ready. He had thought that his time away in the army would allow Sherlock to mature and decide if John was the person with whom he wanted to spend his life. John already knew, for certain, that Sherlock was the only man for him and now he was prepared to wait for Sherlock to make his own decision.

He had been diverted upon his arrival at the house into Mycroft’s study. Sherlock’s brother was only four years older than John but it had always felt like a lifetime. It certainly seemed a far greater gap than the three years that were between John and Sherlock, but whether that was due to the fact that they were younger when they met or that Mycroft was just mature beyond his years, John wasn’t sure. Mycroft had graduated to university two years before everyone usually did and he already had a minor position in the British Government which provided him access to a scary personal assistant and his own chauffeur driven vehicle, and he appeared more grown up than John’s own parents.

“Have a seat, John.”

“What’s this all about, Mycroft? Sherlock is waiting for me.”

“I’m sure a few minutes won’t make any difference.”

“I’m sure they will though, you know what your brother is like.”

“Unfortunately, yes. However, this is necessary so please have a seat.”

John reluctantly sat down. 

“It is my understanding that you intend to speak to my brother this evening about your supposed future together.”

“How…? What… what are you talking about?”

“Come now, John. Don’t be coy. I know that you have received your call-up papers and you are going to ask Sherlock to wait for you. Do you really think that is fair?”

“What do you mean?”

“Sherlock is so young and should surely be given the chance to experience other things without being tied to someone who is going off to war, and could get up to anything whilst there, or to whom anything could occur.”

“Are you suggesting that I would cheat on Sherlock because that would never happen?”

“You say that now, but who knows what would happen in the heightened circumstances of a war zone.”

“I would never…”

Mycroft butted in to talk over him. “Regardless of what you may think, John, you are unable to foresee what may occur in the future. More importantly though, do you really imagine Sherlock would want to forever link himself with a lowly gardener’s son, or that Father would ever allow that to happen.”

John just stared at him, stunned. This was obviously the crux of the situation. He didn’t doubt that Sherlock, himself, cared little about who John’s dad was or, indeed, for any class distinctions. He could easily believe, however, that the head of the Holmes family considered John too inferior in status to form a lasting association with his son.

John had had very little to do with Sherlock’s father over the years. He was usually away working in London or abroad and, on the rare occasions when he was at home, John and Sherlock had always been warned away from disturbing him and told to play on the other side of the house or outside, if at all possible. 

Sherlock’s mother had always seemed to accept John, happy that Sherlock had found a friend. All Sherlock ever said about his father was that he was very strict and he was as happy to avoid him as was John. No doubt Mr Holmes had been pleased enough when Sherlock was younger to have someone to distract him so that he didn’t cause noise and disturbances around the house as he had done previously. Now that Sherlock was nearing adulthood, though, it seemed that John was surplus to requirements. He sat in Mycroft’s study, feet together, hands in his lap, staring down as he twisted his fingers together, thinking back to when it all began.

~*~

They had been friends since the day they met. Sherlock was six and John was nine and he’d arrived upon a scene in a nearby park where Sherlock was getting pushed around by three bigger boys. Sherlock hadn’t seemed worried and, even at that age, he had been verbally eviscerating the bullies. Unfortunately, all the taunts just made them want to hit him even more. John boldly stepped in front of Sherlock and pushed the ring leader back.

“Leave him alone!”

“Who’s gonna make us?”

“I will.” John followed that up with a punch right on the other boy’s nose. It knocked him to the floor and his nose started bleeding.

“Look what you did. You’re gonna be in trouble now.”

“You’re the ones who’ll be in trouble for beating up on a little kid.”

“He was saying stuff about us.”

“I don’t care what he was saying. You’re all twice his age and you should know better. Now, unless you want me to go and get that policeman over there, you should get out of here and never bother him again.”

The other boys all pulled back, looking scared and glancing around to see if a policeman was bearing down on them. They decided it wasn’t worth the risk and took off, much to John’s relief.

“There isn’t a policeman over there, you know.”

“Yeah, I know that, but they didn’t, did they?” John grinned down at Sherlock. “Hi, I’m John Watson.”

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“Holmes? Do you live in the manor house?”

“Yes. You must be the new gardener’s boy. Mummy said you were arriving today.”

“That’s right, me and my dad just got here. He sent me off to find the park while he was unpacking.”

“Why are you on your own? Your mum and dad have obviously just split up, but why would you come here and not your brother?”

“Why do you say I have a brother?”

“The label on your backpack says Harry Watson but it’s been crossed out so it must have been handed down from your older brother. If you’d both just moved here then your dad would have sent you both to the park but there’s only you, so your parents must have divorced and your brother has stayed with your mum. Obvious.”

“That was brilliant.”

Sherlock looked surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, it was amazing, just one thing though; she’s my sister not my brother.”

“Your sister?”

“Harry is short for Harriet and she decided to stay with Mum because she’s choosing her options at school and didn’t want to leave her friends. I thought it would be fun to come somewhere new so I came with Dad. Do you want to play?”

“I don’t play.”

“What are you doing here in the park then?”

“I’m doing an experiment; collecting different soil samples to examine under my microscope.”

“That sounds like fun, can I do that, too?”

Sherlock looked a bit stumped; he’d never had anyone want to join him before. Everybody else he met at the park always ignored him or tried to hit him when he told them things about themselves that they didn’t want to hear; but this boy had just told him he was brilliant and wanted to do things with him. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to have some help gathering samples, at least.

“Very well. You must be careful not to contaminate anything though, and we must carefully label each sample so we know from which part of the park it was gathered.”

“Brilliant.”

They set off to collect soil from several different areas of the park. John held the bag whilst Sherlock dug down to get a good sample. When each bag was filled they carefully tied it up and John wrote the precise location that Sherlock described to him so they would be able to analyse exactly what differences were to be found in each area of soil.

They had great fun running from one spot to another and Sherlock enjoyed having someone else being so enthusiastic to join in with his experiments. When they had filled all their bags they headed back to the manor.

Sherlock ran in through the front door and headed across the hall ready to charge up the stairs to his room. He was called to a halt in the foyer though as his mother appeared.

“Hello darling. What are you up to and who’s your friend?”

“Hello Mummy. This is John. His dad works here now and we’re going to examine the soil samples we just collected in the park.”

“Oh, John, is it? You must be Henry’s son?”

“Yes, hello. Pleased to meet you, Mrs Holmes. Dad was unpacking so he said I could go and find the park and I met Sherlock and now we’re doing experiments.”

“Well that does sound exciting. I’ll let you get on with it then.”

“Thank you, Mummy.”

Sherlock charged off again and John ran after him. Mrs Holmes stood at the bottom of the stairs, watching the boys happily chatting away as they went. As she turned away she had a pleased smile on her face. She had been a little doubtful to start with, but maybe hiring a gardener with a child would be a good decision after all.

John and Sherlock’s friendship built in strength from that first day onwards. They explored the grounds, with Sherlock showing John all his secret places. They played pirates by the lake and commandeered an old hut nearby as their hideout. On one occasion, for Sherlock’s eighth birthday, John persuaded his dad to let him make a map to find buried treasure in a field which he had just turned over before it was re-planted. John buried his present as the treasure and Sherlock was overjoyed to find a new pirate sword and a hoard of chocolate as his booty and they both decided that was the best day ever.

~*~

It hadn’t been all smooth sailing, of course. They had their fights like everyone else; none more so than when Sherlock was ten and John, at thirteen, had got his first girlfriend. John had taken Trudy Johnson to the local cinema and held hands with her in the back row. When he got back home he had a big grin on his face.

“Urgh, you kissed that horrible girl, didn’t you.”

“How did you… never mind. So what if I did anyway?”

“You’re probably full of disease now, that’s what.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Sherlock, Trudy doesn’t have a disease.”

“Do you realise how much bacteria a person carries? You could be infected with anything.”

“Now, you’re just acting like a silly, little child.”

Sherlock’s face fell. He despised being called a child. “I hate you.” He turned on his heel and was away before John had time to do more than shout his name.

Sherlock didn’t look back, nor did he speak to John or even allow himself to be seen by him for three weeks; during which time, John had gone on two more dates with Trudy and then broken up with her after he saw her kissing Peter Williams behind the bike sheds.

John was miserable, not so much about Trudy; he had been disappointed but he had more or less got over that; what was worse was being away from Sherlock. They spent practically every day together in the usual order of things and he was feeling lonely without him. They’d been apart for odd weekends when John had gone home to see his mum; and last summer holidays Sherlock had gone with his family to visit his grandmother in France, but John had been at his mum’s at the time so it hadn’t seemed quite as bad with them both being away at the same time.

Now, though, he was traipsing around their usual haunts on his own, seeing signs that Sherlock had obviously been there, but as soon as John arrived he seemed to have disappeared. He’d tried sneaking in to the house but Mrs Hudson, the housekeeper, seemed to have a second sense about it, knowing their usual habits, and told him that Sherlock wasn’t around or didn’t want to see him.

In the end John decided that enough was enough and he borrowed one of his dad’s ladders and leant it up against the wall outside Sherlock’s room. He had seen Sherlock go in from a distance earlier and he was going to have it out with him. He even came bearing gifts, as he thought Sherlock might be more amenable if there was something in it for him. He climbed the ladder, having to balance precariously on the top rung to grab hold of the sill of Sherlock’s, fortunately, partially opened window. Sherlock’s head shot up as he saw a hand pop into view.

“What are you doing here? I don’t want to see you.”

“You made that quite clear.”

“Why did you bother coming then?”

“Because I wanted to see you. I missed having fun and I know you, you must be bored out of your head by now with nothing to do.”

“I have plenty to do, thank you very much. I don’t need you around to do what I want.”

“Oh that’s a shame, because I found a dead frog when I was down by the lake and I thought you might have wanted to examine it.” John grinned as he saw Sherlock’s eyebrows rise excitedly before he wiped the expression from his face and feigned disinterest.

“Frogs are everywhere; I can just find another one.”

“Really, because I brought this one with me and have it wrapped up in my pocket for you right now.”

Sherlock shrugged nonchalantly and drawled at John. “I suppose you might as well come in then; just to save the frog being spoiled.”

“You’re too kind. Give us a hand then.”

Sherlock pushed the window open wider and grabbed hold of John’s arm as he levered himself in through the window. He slithered down and landed with a bump on Sherlock’s bedroom floor.

“Careful! Mind the frog.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, don’t worry about me; as long as the frog is okay.”

Sherlock looked a bit worried for a moment until he saw the teasing smile on John’s face and the side of his mouth quirked slightly as he tried to hide his own grin.

“I have it safe, don’t worry.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a thick cloth and gave it to Sherlock. “It looks quite fresh. Do you think you’ll be able to tell how it died?”

“Of course. Let’s have a look.”

Sherlock led the way over to his sitting room which he had had set up like a laboratory on one side with his microscope and chemistry equipment set up on a solid bench. The other half of the room had some squashy bean bag chairs and a big entertainment system with a TV and HiFi unit and storage for all his classical music CD’s. Even at age 10, Sherlock was highly skilled with his violin and was able to play a concerto perfectly from memory if he so chose.

John followed him over and watched as Sherlock carefully unwrapped the cloth and examined the frog from all angles before he even touched it. The boys spent a very pleasant afternoon of experimentation, with John putting forward ever more outlandish theories just to see the way Sherlock wrinkled his nose in exasperation. 

“I think what must have happened is that the frog did a superman leap up and hit its head on the branch of a tree above it and knocked itself unconscious. Then an eagle flew down, picked it up, shook it around a bit in its talons and it died of the shock.”

When he got as far as that, though, Sherlock could resist no longer and he told John what he had known from the beginning from the markings on the body.

“It was obviously the stable cat, which has free roam of the grounds, John. It pounced upon the frog and gave it a heart attack before pawing over the body, leaving these slight claw marks on its belly as you can clearly see here.”

“Are you sure; those could just as easily be talon marks?” John laughed as he said it, finally giving up on his teasing. Sherlock looked at the amusement on John’s face and smirked back at him.

“You mean the very rare, lesser spotted, felinicus stabilis eagle?”

“Exactly. I knew you’d catch on eventually.”

“John, you are ridiculous.”

“Aren’t you glad I came back, though?”

“I suppose, this afternoon has been mildly diverting.”

They made their way across the room and John nudged Sherlock on the shoulder. They fell down on the bean bags laughing and poking at each other.

“Mildly diverting, my arse! You had fun, admit it. I know I did.”

At John’s admission, Sherlock felt able to admit that he, also, had enjoyed himself. He had really missed John in the last three weeks. He had got used to having a faithful companion by his side; someone with whom to do experiments and go exploring and while away, the otherwise far too boring, hours in the day. He didn’t begrudge John having other friends – well, he told himself he didn’t - but it had scared him to see John becoming so absorbed in someone else. He probably hadn’t reacted very well by refusing to see him as he’d made the situation even worse; seeing even less of John than if he’d been off on occasional dates.

He was glad that John had forced his way in to his room and the air seemed to have cleared enough for them to go back to being friends. In fact, he felt so pleased to see John again that he even refrained from mentioning the fact that the girl had obviously cheated on him to cause him to end things. It wouldn’t be the last time this happened, he was sure, but Sherlock decided he would play it differently the next time. He would be better served by monopolising John’s attention not avoiding it. Happy with this future plan, Sherlock allowed John back into his life and things soon returned to normal. 

~*~

The day before Valentine’s Day, in Sherlock’s thirteenth year, found him moping around the kitchen, sighing over Mrs Hudson’s baking. John had been selected as one of a group of ten students and three teachers to go to a school in the Scottish Highlands to exchange teaching methods and training techniques between urban and rural schools as part of a new programme to improve the standards of GCSE’s. He’d been gone for two weeks already and had another two to go and Sherlock had been bored on the very first day.

Sherlock sighed again and a puff of flour floated in to the air.

“Sherlock, is there something I can help you with?”

“Bored!”

“You’ve been saying that for two weeks already. Isn’t there anything you want to do?”

“There’s nothing to do. All the experiments I wanted to start need John’s help. It really is too bad of him to go away.”

“It was a great honour for him to be picked, Sherlock; they only took the best students.”

“I know; but I still wish he was here.”

“Well, would you like to help me with my baking?”

“What are you making?”

“I’m making some Valentine cakes and some jam tarts.”

“What are Valentine cakes? Is that to do with the stupid thing they were taking about at school?”

“Valentine’s Day isn’t stupid, Sherlock. It’s a day when you can show someone that you care about them, and you do it in secret so they don’t know who it’s from, so it makes a lovely surprise for them.”

“I’d always be able to tell who something was from so that wouldn’t be a surprise.”

“I’m sure you would, dear, but not everyone has your talents. Is there anyone you would like to make something for?”

John’s name was what instantly came to Sherlock’s mind. He was the only person Sherlock really cared about in any way. Maybe he could send something to John; that would certainly surprise him as he wouldn’t be expecting a package up there. It wouldn’t do to be too keen though, so he shrugged at Mrs Hudson.

“I suppose I might as well help you, I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Mrs Hudson hid a smile, “Well, thank you, Sherlock, that’s most generous of you. I’ve got one batch that should be ready to come out any time now and these ones on the side should be cool enough already, if you want to make a start on decorating them.”

Mrs Hudson had got lots of different decorations and some packs of writing icing gel. She had some butter icing ready mixed so she did the first one to show Sherlock what to do and then left him to make his own designs.

Sherlock, of course, took full advantage of the freedom and, on the first few he iced, he piled them high with every decoration going. Then he got a little more artistic. He decorated three properly; one for Mummy, one for Father and one for Mrs Hudson, herself. He’d already decided he was going to have one with everything on for himself and he would send the others to John. He got out the writing icing and on the next one he drew a picture of a pig and put one pink sugar ball in the centre for its nose. That one would be for Mycroft.

Mrs Hudson took the second tray of cakes out of the oven and put them on the rack to cool whilst Sherlock moved the cakes he had decorated out of the way so they could start on the jam tarts. Mrs Hudson got down two mixing bowls and let Sherlock measure out the ingredients for both bowls and she showed him how to rub the butter into the flour to make the pastry. They put it in to the fridge to chill for a short while and Sherlock decorated the second tray of cakes in a more traditional fashion this time.

Mrs Hudson got out a flat cardboard cake box which she gave to Sherlock to fold out into a usable container within which to send the cakes to John. He inserted the correct tabs into the right slots and he soon had a sturdy box ready. It had special inserts to hold the cupcakes so he put the three he had set aside for John into place and it left him room for one more thing to add so he decided to do something special with the pastry.

When the pastry was sufficiently chilled to allow it to roll easily, they took it out of the fridge and Mrs Hudson got out her rolling pin. She rolled her piece flat first and took out her shaped cutters so that Sherlock could see how she did it. He copied her and finished filling the tray with his shapes whilst she dolloped jam into all of her tarts.

Before Mrs Hudson could gather up the left-over pastry to roll another batch though, Sherlock grabbed the pieces and asked if he could make something with it. She was happy to oblige as she already had two full trays of tarts for everyone to eat. Sherlock filled his own tarts with jam using another flavour and made one with a different jam on each half which he declared would taste the best and was going to be his. Mrs Hudson smiled at him fondly as she turned to put the first tray in the oven.

He gathered up the scraps but instead of rolling it out this time, he started moulding it into the proper shape for an anatomically correct heart. All the ones he has seen on the cards they had been talking about at school and, indeed, some of the little decorations that Mrs Hudson had supplied for the cakes, had been in that stupid heart shape that provided no accuracy whatsoever. His would be nothing like that; his would be the right shape and have ventricles and atria and he was going to use the jam to be the blood.

Mrs Hudson suggested he flatten it a little to enable it to cook right through and when he was done he put it on a baking tray and she put it the oven below the second tray of tarts as it would take longer to cook with the size of it. When it finished cooking Sherlock decorated it with the jam and it did look quite genuinely like a heart.

“Does it have to look so much like blood, dear?”

“That’s the whole point, Mrs Hudson, it’s supposed to be a heart and hearts pump blood so that has to be what it is. Do you think John will like it?”

“I’m sure he’ll love it and it’ll certainly be a surprise for him.”

“That’s what I thought. It’s better than those other wishy-washy, made-up shapes.”

“If you say so.” Mrs Hudson smiled at him.

“Will we be able to get it to him in time?”

“Well, as soon as it’s cooled enough, we’ll package it safely in the box with the cakes and then I’ll walk with you down to the village if you like and we can post it Special Delivery.”

“Excellent. Let’s do that then.”

When the heart had cooled they wrapped it up in tissue paper and put it in the box. They put some extra tissue paper in to hold everything in place so it wouldn’t get shaken around too much during delivery. Sherlock used some brown paper to wrap the parcel and then wrote John’s address, which he already had memorised, on the label and then got a red pen and wrote ‘fragile’ in big letters in several places just to make sure it got their attention.

They walked to the Post Office and, in spite of the all the sighing and huffing that Sherlock did, whilst he waited for Mrs Hudson to finish chatting with Mrs Boult, the Post Mistress, the parcel was correctly stamped and sorted. He was assured that it should reach its destination the next morning and, yes, they would be very careful with it.

Sherlock was in fine mood on the way back and even offered to carry Mrs Hudson’s shopping and held his elbow out for her to link her arm through as they walked home. He enjoyed his specially decorated cake after tea and grinned when he put Mycroft’s in front of him. Mycroft merely rolled his eyes and proceeded to eat it anyway – it was a cake, after all.

The next day Sherlock spent the whole time hanging around in the hall, close to the phone. He was sure that there must be a phone in the hotel that John would be able to use when his lessons were over for the day. By the time four o’clock rolled round, Sherlock’s frustration had practically reached its limit. John must be back by now surely. Was he not going to ring? He must have guessed who it was from even though there hadn’t been a card in the box.

Luckily for all concerned, at ten past four the phone rang and Sherlock leapt towards it and grabbed the handset.

“John, is that you?”

“What would you have said if it wasn’t?”

“Don’t be stupid, of course I knew it would be you. Although you’ve taken long enough!”

“Sorry. We’ve only just got back to the hotel and been dismissed before dinner so this is my first chance to ring.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“John, you are being deliberately obtuse.”

John laughed. “I am. Sorry, Sherlock. Thank you very much for the cakes, I’ve had one already and they’re delicious.”

“Of course they are, I made them. Well, I didn’t make the cakes, I only decorated them, but I did make the heart. What did you think?”

“I’ve never seen a more accurate representation of a heart and the jam blood was a nice touch.”

Sherlock grinned. “It did look real, didn’t it? I modelled it on that frog we dissected when I was ten, do you remember?”

John did, indeed, remember that frog. It had been his peace offering to Sherlock after that incident when he’d had his first girlfriend. Now, here it was on Valentine’s Day and Sherlock had sent him a box of cakes and a heart. What was he to make of that? Did Sherlock even know what that meant?

“It was a great surprise. Thank you, Sherlock.”

“It was Mrs Hudson who was doing the baking and she let me help because it was just so boring here. When are you coming back?”

John smiled; it was nice to know he was missed, even if it was only to alleviate Sherlock’s boredom levels.

“It’ll be another week and a half yet until we come home. Try not to burn anything down until I’m back, won’t you.”

“I can’t agree to arbitrary things like that. Cooking was quite fun, though – it’s all chemistry, of course.”

“It should be right up your street then.” John wanted to try and get to the reasoning behind Sherlock’s gift. “Was Mrs Hudson baking for any reason?”

“She was doing them for Valentine’s Day or some such nonsense. I gave you the best cakes with the most on, John. You should have seen the one I gave Mycroft; I drew a pig on it.”

John laughed. It had all been completely innocent then, well, at least he knew where he stood.

“Mrs Hudson said that you should give things to people you care about so I thought I would surprise you.”

John was silent for a moment. Had Sherlock just admitted that he cared about John? He supposed he could understand it; they had been together for more than half of Sherlock’s life, after all, and he certainly cared about Sherlock; he just hadn’t known that Sherlock felt the same way. He was quite touched. Very touched, in fact. Almost choked, when it came down it. He tried to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“You certainly did that, Sherlock.”

“Are you alright, John? You sound weird.”

John coughed and cleared his throat. “Sorry, frog in my throat.”

“That is a ridiculous statement. How can you have a frog in your throat? From where would it have come?”

“It’s just a figure of speech, Sherlock. Anyway, thank you very much for my gifts, they are all greatly appreciated.”

“Well, good. I’m glad they got there in time, at least. I did speak very seriously to the Post Mistress about the importance of the package and how careful they ought to be with the contents.”

“I’m sure she took it all on board as it arrived in perfect condition. Thanks.”

John’s voice became muffled at the end as he covered his hand over the receiver and Sherlock heard him shouting to someone.

“Sorry, Sherlock, I’ve got to go now. They’re calling us to get ready for dinner so I’ll have to get changed out of my school uniform.”

“Okay, I suppose you’d better go then.” Now that it came down to it, Sherlock didn’t want to say goodbye. Everything seemed better when John was around, even if it was only on the end of the phone.

“It won’t be too much longer now and then I’ll be back and you can show me what you’ve been working on whilst I’ve been away.”

“It’s been too boring to do anything. Although I did hear your Dad say he was going to move the compost heap so I could start in on measuring the rates of decay in the new pile for comparison. Yes, I could take a sample core from the heap now and then wait until he’s moved it and put something at the bottom and watch the difference. In fact, I wonder if I could get him to use a piece of glass for the front so that I can see it all changing.”

John butted in. Sherlock was on a roll and John knew that once something had caught his interest there would be no stopping. 

“That sounds like a great idea. Go and have a word with Dad and I’m sure he’ll be happy to set it up how you want. You can show me your findings when I get home.”

“Yes, yes, John. I’ll have to go now, I’m very busy.”

With that, John heard the phone being slammed down and the dialling tone ringing in his ear. He shook his head in fond exasperation and grinned as he put the phone down. “Goodbye to you, too, Sherlock”, he muttered to himself as he went upstairs to get changed.

He sat on his bed and opened the box of treats he had received. He unwrapped the paper tissue and looked at the heart – Sherlock’s heart. There was no way he could eat that. He decided that as soon as he got home he would buy some lacquer varnish and coat the heart to preserve it. That was something he wanted to treasure. With his plan in mind, he put it away for now and finished getting ready and went down to join the others; knowing it wouldn’t be too long until he was back home with Sherlock again.

~*~

John closed his eyes as he lay there on his hospital bed. He didn’t want to think any more. He didn’t want to worry about what he was going to do now. He just wanted to go back to sleep and not have to wake up in the same mess in which he’d found himself. He wanted his life back. He wanted Sherlock.

It was true that he hadn’t actually spoken to Sherlock in ten years but he’d been in touch with his dad during that time so he’d heard about what Sherlock had been up to. He knew that Sherlock didn’t have anyone else and he knew he’d been in a bit of trouble over the years but his dad hadn’t gone into a lot of detail over that so John wasn’t really sure what that was.

He’d tried writing at the beginning, when he’d first left to join the army, but he’d never had any answer so he’d assumed Sherlock hadn’t been happy about him going and was just making his displeasure know. He had plenty of experience with how long Sherlock’s sulks could last but after no reply for that whole first year he’d given it up as a bad job.

Instead, he had decided on his plan of action; to get himself established and respected and to come back to Sherlock as a successful man. Well, so much for that plan. He was ruined. What was he to do with himself now? He turned his head in to the pillow to absorb the single tear that gathered in the corner of his eye.

The nurse came in soon after to check his dressings and drips and he was almost grateful for the shot of morphine he received. Not for the pain relief it would provide, because quite frankly he could care less about that at the moment; but more for the oblivion it would bring, however temporary, from his tortured thoughts.

When he woke again, he was instantly aware that he was not alone. There was no-one standing near his equipment so it was unlikely to be a nurse, but he just knew that something else had disturbed him. He was propped slightly over to his right side with his left shoulder resting on cushions to stop him pulling on any of the stitches. He carefully rolled himself over and looked towards the window. The room was in relative darkness, except for the lights from the machines, but he’d know that silhouette anywhere.

“Sh..”, he coughed and cleared his throat, unused to talking after so long and throat dry from the medications. He tried again and managed to get a whisper out this time, “Sherlock?”

Sherlock walked across to his bed and held a cup with a straw for him to have a drink of water. He nodded his thanks after a few sips and Sherlock put it back on the table.

“Afghanistan or Iraq?”

“What?”

“You’re in a military hospital with a shoulder injury; you’ve obviously been in a war zone, in a hot country judging by the colour of your skin, so Afghanistan or Iraq, then.”

“Afghanistan. What… How are you here?”

“Your father received a letter from the army telling him of your injury – he’s on his way to see you, by the way, he’ll be here on the first train this morning.”

“How did you get here before him then?”

“I live in London. He spoke to my mother when he asked her for time off and she rang me to let me know.”

“And you came to see me…?

“Obviously!”

“I mean, why did you come to see me? I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?”

“Well, maybe the fact that you never answered any of my letters.”

“Letters? I never received any letters. You just left.”

“I wrote to you for the first year, Sherlock, but when I didn’t hear anything back I gave up.”

“Bloody Mycroft! I’m going to kill him. When I hadn’t heard anything after a few months, he told me you’d moved on and were spending time with your adult friends and wouldn’t want some kid hanging around.”

“I never thought of you as just a kid, you know that.”

“I should have trusted that I did know that. I stupidly let myself be influenced by Mycroft.”

“That’s never a good thing”, John smiled at him and Sherlock rolled his eyes in acknowledgement. “It’s good to see you. I… I’ve missed you.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at such a comment. He had really thought that John had moved on and forgotten about him and was surprised to hear otherwise.

“I have… thought of you, too, on occasion.”

“Blimey, Sherlock, don’t get all gooey on me.”

Sherlock’s eyes shot to John’s face, expecting derision, but he realised that John was only teasing him. He’d forgotten how much John liked to tease and how easily he’d always accepted it from him. It felt almost normal to hear that again. He had missed having someone to joke with him. That had been in short supply in his life since John had gone.

He smiled at him and mock shivered, “indeed; sentiment.”

John laughed and it felt wonderful to be able to do that again. To be with Sherlock and feel comfortable – which he realised was how Sherlock always made him feel - like home.

~*~

Sherlock spent the majority of the next two weeks at the hospital with John. He encouraged him when he was feeling low and pushed him to his limits when he had his physiotherapy, determined that John should get back as much movement as possible in his arm.

They spent the time catching up on each other’s lives during the last ten years. Sherlock was keen to know what life had been like in the army and John had been fascinated by Sherlock’s new occupation with assisting the police with their investigations. He even got to meet the DI that Sherlock was working with when Sherlock had told the man that he could bring the recent crime scene photos to him at the hospital as he couldn’t leave at the moment.

“Don’t let me disrupt your work, Sherlock. You don’t have to stay here keeping me company if you need to go and speak to the police.”

“There’s no disruption. I’m here because I wish to be; unless you would rather I left?”

“No, no, it’s nice to have you here…, I mean, it’s nice to have someone here.”

Sherlock smiled at John’s initial comment. There had been several things John had said over the last couple of days that showed he was glad Sherlock had come to see him and Sherlock certainly wasn’t going to leave unless John specifically asked.

There had been a little tension three days ago when their catching-up had led to Sherlock explaining about his drug addiction. He had detected sadness and even guilt in John’s demeanour, over the fact that Sherlock had had to go through that alone. There was no censure, though, only acceptance and understanding when Sherlock explained that it had been two years now since he had last used which had coincided with when he started working with DI Lestrade.

Talk eventually came round to what John was going to do when he left. 

“The army have a system of halfway housing for injured veterans to move in to whilst they’re recovering and looking for a more permanent situation, so they’ve set me up with a room there for the time being.”

“Nonsense, John, you don’t want to go in to bland, army accommodation where you’re just staring at grey walls for hours on end. I’ve got my eye on a place in Central London which I would be more than happy to share with you if you would be willing to halve the rent with me.”

“You wouldn’t want to live with an old, crippled, army doctor.”

“You’re only three years older than me. You won’t be crippled; we’ll soon have that shoulder back in action once you’ve properly recovered from the surgery. As to you being an army doctor, I can think of no-one better to assist me on my cases. You have a medical knowledge which will be exceedingly beneficial in verifying cause of death and your army training means your stomach won’t be turned at the sight of traumatic incidents. I think we will make a perfect team.”

“You can’t be serious? You would be willing to work with me, even though I’m no longer able to perform the delicate surgery for which I trained so very hard. All that work I put in to making myself an accomplished, successful surgeon, so that I would be good enough for you…” John stuttered to a halt.

“To what exactly are you referring, John?”

“Nothing.” John was bright red now, his head hanging low as he avoided Sherlock’s eye.

“Why would you need to be good enough for me?”

“No reason.”

“There is a reason, and I can see quite clearly by looking at you that it isn’t your reason. It’s that pompous arse, Mycroft, isn’t it?”

“Sherlock…”

“No, John, don’t even try to defend him. He said something to you, didn’t he, and I don’t even have to ask when; it was on the night of my sixteenth birthday, wasn’t it.”

John’s jaw dropped, “how did you…?”

“You were going to ask me something that night, weren’t you? I’d seen it building up for weeks and when you came over to the party I knew you were going to do it. I even saw you coming up the drive, excitement in your face, words almost sizzling on your tongue, waiting to jump out. By the time you met me inside though, your whole demeanour had changed. I guessed Mycroft had spoken with you but I always wondered what it was he said. I wasn’t going to ask him, obviously, and I couldn’t ask you. What did he say to you? You might as well tell me now.”

“He said that your father would never allow his son to be forever linked with a lowly gardener’s son. I knew my father’s job didn’t bother you, but I never wanted you to feel slighted by your peers or disappointed with your choice. I vowed that I would make something of myself and come back to you as a successful surgeon with a high powered job, a place to live in London and the ability to keep you in the manner to which I knew you were accustomed. Then it all went to hell and I got shot and now everything is lost. No job, no house, no money; nothing.”

“John, how can you possibly think I care about any of those things? Don’t you know me at all?”

“Yes, but this was your father, Sherlock. I didn’t want to put you at odds with him.”

“My father and I had been at odds all my life, John; you know that. Even to the day he died we were still disagreeing over everything. What makes you think I would ever worry about what he thought of me? As to my peers, I could care less about any of those stupid idiots and I would never be disappointed to be with you; given the chance, of course.”

“Given the chance – does that mean you…?”

“That’s what you were going to ask me, wasn’t it? I knew that was it. Well, it may be ten years later than expected but what’s to stop you?”

“Really, you would still…?”

“John, you don’t seem to be able to finish a sentence.” Sherlock smirked at him. “Why don’t you ask me and find out.”

John blushed then took in a deep breath. He wasn’t going to freak out now. He’d wanted Sherlock for so long; even with no contact for all these years, he had never lost his love for this amazing man. He cleared his throat, determined to get it all out this time.

“Sherlock. When you came of age at sixteen and I was leaving to join the army, I was going to tell you that I was willing to wait for you. Well, we’ve been waiting for ten years now and I think that’s quite long enough.”

“Indeed.”

“My feelings for you haven’t changed at all in that time. I think I’ve loved you all my life, one way or another; since I first met you when you were six years old in that park with those ridiculous bullies, from whom you didn’t really need saving, but I charged in anyway.”

“My knight in shining armour.” Sherlock clutched his chest and they both laughed.

“Sherlock, that’s not helping.”

“Sorry. Carry on.”

“I never stopped thinking of you when I was over there and I had a little piece of you that helped me through a lot of tough times.”

“What piece of me?”

John smiled fondly at him. “Have a look in my kit bag; in the side pouch in a padded bag.”

Sherlock walked over to the locker where John’s things had been stowed and got out the bag. The package inside was double protected in bubble wrap and then inside that was something wrapped in tissue paper. Sherlock walked back over to John and peeled back the tissue paper and stared. His glance shot up to John’s face, shock in his eyes.

“Is this…?”

“Your heart. You gave it to me when you were thirteen years old and I’ve kept it with me since then. It’s seen as much battle as I have, but still it’s remained more or less in one piece, a bit battered perhaps, but just as good as when you gave it to me.” John looked up at the surprise still on Sherlock’s face. He took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it tight. “I kept it safe for you all these years, Sherlock, and if you would accept it, I’d be happy to give you my own in exchange. Hell, it’s already yours anyway - it has been since we were kids – but if you want to take things further then I would love to do so. I love you, Sherlock. Always have, always will.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to say. He sank down into the chair next to the bed as his legs gave out. His eyes were on the slightly battered pastry heart in his hands. It had obviously been covered in some kind of preservative since that Valentine’s Day when he had made it and posted it to John. Parts of the glaze had worn through where it had been frequently handled and the arch of the aorta had broken off where it had stuck out at the top, but basically it was just as he had made it. John had kept it all these years; taken it with him everywhere and treasured it and thought of him. He was stunned at the implications of the care and devotion that John had given to his heart.

“I… You…” Sherlock shook his head, not knowing where to begin. John squeezed the hand he still held and Sherlock tried again.

“On the night of my sixteenth birthday, I knew what you were going to ask and I’d been waiting for it. I’d seen your face over those last months and I knew how you felt about me. I would have come to you before but I could tell your morals wouldn’t have allowed you to do anything illegal so I waited for that day. When you eventually came to me, I was so disappointed when I saw the look on your face. I knew something had happened but I couldn’t tell specifically what that was and, as I said before, I couldn’t ask you without giving everything away.”

“Oh, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock shook his head at the interruption and carried on. “When I didn’t get any letters or anything from you after you left, I told myself I must have imagined it; that I was just seeing what I wanted to see. It somehow seemed easier to believe Mycroft when he told me you were wrapped up in your real friends now and didn’t want a kid hanging around. I spiralled a bit after that. Well, I’ve already told you about that so there’s no need to re-hash it all, …but to know that you loved me all that time and hadn’t forgotten about me, … well I just wish I had known that sooner.”

“I’m so sorry you went through all that, and that it was my fault.”

“It wasn’t your fault, John, and there’s no point dwelling on it now; what’s done is done. Just to know that you still want me after all this time is enough. I’ve always loved you too and I would be happy to hold on to your heart as you have always held on to mine.”

“It’s yours. It’s always been yours. Now get down and here and give me a kiss, you big dope.”

Sherlock’s lip twitched, awkwardly shy, but endearingly sweet in John’s eyes. Sherlock bent forward and stroked his finger down John’s cheek and across his bottom lip. John’s tongue slipped out and touched the tip and Sherlock gasped. He leaned forward and captured John’s lips with his own; finally getting to taste what he had wanted all these years. They only split apart when a slight groan from John sounded more like pain than pleasure. The angle he was leaning over towards Sherlock was pulling on his stitches and, loath as he was to stop, he needed to move to somewhere more comfortable.

Sherlock pulled back completely and smirked. “Maybe we should save anything more strenuous for when your shoulder is a little more healed.”

“The strenuous stuff, sure. There’s nothing to stop you leaning that long neck of yours further over, though, so that I don’t have to move whilst you give me another kiss first, is there?”

John grinned at him and crooked his finger to beckon Sherlock nearer.

“I suppose I could be persuaded to accommodate your smaller stature on this occasion. Ow.” He laughed as he rubbed the shoulder that John had just punched. “Come here, you.”

Sherlock sat on the bed and leaned right over so that John didn’t need to move at all and the more comfortable position enabled them to indulge without interruptions.

It had been a long road to get them to where they were today and both of them had suffered for it, but it seemed that nothing but good times lay ahead of them and they both intended to make the most of it for a very long time to come.

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to A for everything.  
> Hope you enjoy. :)


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